


The Dritt Files

by QueensJenn



Category: Ylvis
Genre: A bit shit, AU No Wives No Kids, Angst, Brotherly feels, Friendship, Gen, and everything in between, fuff, one shots, some happy, some sad, you never know what you're gonna get
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueensJenn/pseuds/QueensJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shots, scenes and ficlets that aren't good enough to be posted on their own.</p><p>Often written extremely quickly and with minimal proof-reading and editing. </p><p>Tags will be added as needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bård gets a cold.

Bård shuffles in to the office a half hour late, wrapped in sweatpants and a thick hoodie, his face pale, nose red, and breathing heavily through his mouth. Wordlessly he flops down on the couch in Vegard’s office, where he and Calle had gathered to prepare for the day’s filming, and closes his eyes.

"You bade be sick," he says, his voice low and gravelly.

"I told you not to drink from my glass," Vegard shrugs. "Please tell me you didn’t drive yourself here."

Bård opens one eye. “I have a cold, I’b not incompetent.” He coughs, then sneezes several times into his sleeve before fumbling in his pocket for a Kleenex. 

Vegard considers responding to that, then thinks better of it. “Okay, well, we were just discussing the order of tonight’s filming.”

"Okay, continue." Bård closes his eyes again and leans back into the couch.

"Uh…" Vegard pauses. He wants to ask him if he’s okay, if he’s going to make it through the filming of the two episodes, but that’s a stupid question because Bård isn’t okay, but he has no choice but to make it through. The audience is already lined up and the crew are all here, and they really can’t reschedule. 

"I’b listening," Bård assures him. "Keep going." But Vegard hasn’t even gotten through half of the first episode before Bård’s breathing has evened out.

Vegard looks at Calle, who shrugs. 

Vegard sighs. He gets up and goes to the closet to retrieve the spare blanket he keeps there, for those nights when he’s too tired or the weather is too bad to go home. He throws it over his sleeping, sick brother, then frowns and feels his forehead and cheeks.

"Shit, he’s running a fever." 

"How bad?"

"I don’t know. He feels really hot, though."

Calle pulls out his phone. “I’ll tell Magnus to run down to the store for a thermometer and some ibuprofen. That should help.”

"Maybe," Vegard sighs again. "Until then, let’s go to your office." He turns out the light and locks the door, with the instruction that no one is to go in there under any circumstances. 

Magnus returns 15 minutes later with the required items. Vegard takes them back in, and gently shakes Bård awake. The younger man blinks in confusion, then winces, his neck stiff. He leans forward, putting his head in his hands and massaging his forehead for a moment, then coughs and sneezes and coughs again.

"I want to check your temperature," Vegard says softly. "You’re really hot."

"I never knew you felt that way about me," Bård jokes weakly. 

"Can you put this in your mouth and not choke on it for the next three minutes?"

"You’d better not be talking about your cock."

"It’s a thermometer," Vegard assures him hurriedly.

"Good, because three minutes is just patheti—hrk!" Vegard shoves the thermometer in before the conversation can get any weirder. 

Bård doesn’t choke on it, though it’s close - as soon as the thing beeps he spits it out and begins to cough, long and hard, making up for suppressing it while the thermometer was in his mouth.

"101.9," Vegard reads worriedly.

"Is that bad?"

"Yeah. You should not be here. You should be at home, in bed. Sleeping. Alone," he adds, before Bård can make the obvious joke.

"Yeah well, that’s not an option, is it," he asks rhetorically. 

"No, not really. So take these pills and rest until it’s time to go."

"I already took a dose before I left the house."

"Did you? Good. Take another one." 

He does, and then lies down, stretching out on the couch and pulling the blanket over himself.

"Your blanket smells," he complains.

"Shut up," Vegard says. "Go back to sleep, I’ll wake you when it’s time to get to makeup."

Bård is asleep before he even finishes the sentence. Vegard sighs and gets up, knowing that it’s not going to be enough.

It’s only an hour before he has to wake him again, and the pills seem to have done nothing. Bård’s eyes are bright and glassy, and he coughs hard before he’s able to speak. Vegard hands him a glass of water and he drinks greedily, spilling it down his front in his haste.

"You look like hell," Vegard says.

"I think I might be dying."

"Try not to die until we’re done with the taping, okay?"

"Ah, but think of the headlines." Bård gets to his feet with a groan. Everything aches. Every muscle, every joint, every bone. Even his teeth hurt. That has to be a new low. He keeps the blanket wrapped around him through makeup until it’s time to get dressed. The suit is scratchy and uncomfortable against his overheated, oversensitive skin.

Bård knows the taping is going to be hell, but he couldn’t have imagined just  _how_  hellish. The lights are bright and hot, the opening dance is fast-paced and energetic, and the audience is loud, which makes his pounding headache that much worse.

At least there’s a fair number of pre-taped skits, which cuts down on the amount of stuff they have to do live, which isn’t all that live because they have to keep doing retakes because Bård keeps sneezing and coughing in the middle of his sentences. 

The guests are both boring  _and_  obnoxious, which is a bad combination on a good night, but tonight it’s deadly, and he can feel the interviews going downhill as soon as they start. Vegard is kind enough to jump in when he starts flagging, but it’s still pathetic. 

It takes almost two hours to tape the first episode, which Bård thinks has to be a new record. All he wants to do is go home and collapse into bed, but of course, he can’t. So he settles for the next best thing, which actually isn’t very good at all: taking off his suit jacket, unbuttoning his shirt and lying down on the couch in the dressing room.

He’s barely aware of Vegard throwing the blanket over him, but somehow he manages to find the energy to open one eye.

"It still smells," he croaks, his voice nearly gone.

"Shut up and open your mouth."

This time, Bård is too tired and miserable to make any kind of dirty joke. He just does as he’s told.

"102.3," Vegard says. "Fuck, you’re getting  _worse_.”

"Sorry."

"S’okay. Drink this water, then crash for a bit. They’re just setting up for the next ep, you have some time."  _Not enough time,_  Vegard thinks as Bård passes out again.

He finds a clean washcloth and wets it with cool water from the tap, and puts it on Bård’s forehead. It’s not the best, but it might help a little. Then he turns off the light and shuts the door, and goes out to talk to members of the audience who are hanging around, waiting for autographs. 

It takes longer than expected to set up, which ordinarily would be annoying but this time Vegard is glad. An hour and a half later, he opens the door to Bård’s dressing room. Bård is cuddled up in the blanket, sound asleep and snoring quietly. Vegard shakes him. 

"Time to go," he says. Bård blinks, then groans and pulls the blanket over his head.

"I guess it doesn’t smell so bad after all, huh," Vegard says, amused.

"Go ‘way."

"Can’t. We got a show to tape. Then you can go home."

"Don’t wanna."

"That’s the price we pay for fame," Vegard sighs, only half joking. 

"Fuck showbiz."

"Later. Right now, you gotta get up."

Bård groans again, but throws the blanket off and stands up, shivering. He shrugs on his jacket again, which despite being a jacket really isn’t very warm, and follows his brother backstage to get into position for the opening of the next episode.

If the first one had been hellish, he’s not sure what to call the next one, because up until that point he hadn’t known there was a level beyond hell. Maybe it’s über-hell, where all the really bad people go. He doesn’t think he’s one of the really bad ones, but then you never know, do you. Until you’re there, which he certainly is, right now.   


The second episode goes much as the first, with more pre-taped segments. Those had been a bitch to make, seeing as how several had been filmed in the pouring rain or snow (which was probably why Vegard had gotten sick, and then gotten Bård sick), but now all three are thankful they did, because it’s just painful to watch Bård struggle through. 

At least the guests are sympathetic, Vegard thinks. They do their best to make up for the crappy interview in their own way, and he tries too to take up the slack. Fortunately, each one is only about six or seven minutes long, and then it’s back to the ending, and another pre-taped segment. Of course, everything takes longer than it should because of so many re-takes because of sneezing or coughing fits, and finally Vegard has to signal the director,  _no more_ _,_ because he can tell that Bård is coming to the end of his endurance. He needs to get his little brother home and to bed, stat.

"Let’s go," he says softly, coming into Bård’s dressing room. Bård has managed to get changed by himself, but now he’s standing in the middle of the room uncertainly, as if he’s forgotten what he’s meant to be doing.

"What?"

"I’m taking you home. You’re in no condition to drive."

For once, Bård has to admit that it’s true. “But what about my car?”

"We’ll get it tomorrow."

"Oh…okay."

The fact that he didn’t even try to protest worries Vegard greatly as he steers him towards the parking lot and into his car before any curious but well-meaning fans can find their way to the back door of the theatre. Bård immediately closes his eyes and doesn’t wake up until they’re in his driveway and Vegard’s waking him. He doesn’t protest when his older brother puts his arm around his waist and guides him into his house, down the stairs, and into his bedroom. He does, however, protest when Vegard won’t let him lie down. The warm, comforting softness is right there, but Vegard holds him sitting upright with an iron arm.

"Temperature," he says softly. "Open up."

Bård settles for resting his head on Vegard’s shoulder as he holds the thermometer in his mouth. Vegard takes it when it beeps, and swears softly.

"104.3. Fuck, Bård, I know you don’t want to hear this, but we  _have_  to get that fever down. It’s getting dangerous.”

"Hmm?"

"You’re going to hate me for this, but…shower."

"What?" He can’t believe his ears.

"Yeah. I’m so sorry, but you need to cool off. Come on, I’ll help you."

"You’re not getting in the shower with me," he mumbles. 

"Of course not, don’t be gross." He deposits Bård on the closed toilet seat lid, and turns on the shower to the correct temperature - cool enough to hopefully get the fever down, but warm enough so he won’t get a chill. 

"Clothes off, get in," he instructs. Bård fumbles with the waistband and zippers, but eventually strips down and gets in, gasping with shock at the coldness.

"Wash your face, get the makeup off while you’re in there," Vegard calls. He keeps one ear open in case Bård needs help, but in the meantime pulls out a fluffy towel and the warmest pair of fleece pajama pants he can find, and lays them out on the counter in the bathroom. He closes the door and waits in the bedroom to give Bård his privacy while he gets dressed, and already has the pillows fluffed and the covers turned down by the time he gets out.

Bård groans in appreciation at the sight. He practically stumbles toward the bed and all but falls into it. Vegard doesn’t even bother with the thermometer; he doubts Bård could even stay awake for the next three minutes.

"I just need you to drink some water for me, okay?" he whispers. "Another dose of ibuprofen and then you can sleep, I promise."

Bård is sluggish and half-asleep, but he nods obediently and takes the glass of water and the pills.

"I kind of like you like this," Vegard dares to joke. "You listen to me."

"Very funny," Bård answers, finishing the glass. "I’m going to crash, Vegard."

"I know you are. It’s okay, close your eyes. I’ll check on you tomorrow. I’ll bring you soup."

"You’re a good brother," Bård whispers, eyes falling shut. "The best."

"I know I am, you little shit," Vegard says affectionately, pulling the blankets up and tucking them them in under Bård’s chin. His breath is already slow and even, so Vegard simply presses a kiss to his (now much-cooler) forehead, gets up, and turns off the lights. 


	2. Sidekicks Suck -or- You are NOT Calle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little background: Set in the (hopefully) upcoming Season 4 of I Kveld Med Ylvis. ( I BELIEVE!)
> 
> Calle has gone off to do another show with Raske Menn, and has been replaced by a new sidekick named Peter (My OC)
> 
> Inspired by the numerous skits of waking up Bård in humourous ways, and the idea that if it was anyone else than Vegard or Calle, they’d be extremely pissed. Then I’d decided I’d tortured Bård enough, and it was time for him to be awesome.
> 
> Written in one continuous take, minimal editing and proofreading :P

It’s 4:30 in the morning, and all is still in the quiet Oslo neighbourhood. All, except for the young man with bright blue hair who is stealthily creeping up the front walk of a neat house.

Peter giggles to himself as he pulls out his lockpicking kit and starts to unlock the front door. This is going to be epic. This will cement his place on I Kveld Med Ylvis for sure. He still can’t believe he’s been chosen to be the new sidekick in place of the legendary Calle Hellevang-Larsen - he has HUGE shoes to fill, and he knows he has to fill them, fast. Even though they’d approved the choice, both Bård and Vegard seem a little wary toward him. He knows it’s because they’re missing their friend, and he’s wracked his brain for days trying to come up with something to show them that he can be just as wacky and zany.

Bathing naked? No way. WAY too cold. 

Poking people with a stick? What, is he  _trying_  to get beat up?

He’d even tried approaching Magnus, the gentle giant, and been politely but coldly rebuffed. (Hey, was it  _really_  his fault he thought the guy was 40 instead of 28? I mean, come on!)

Then, while watching old episodes of IKMY from the second season, the other time when Calle had been missing, he’d struck upon it. The perfect solution. David Batra had been just  _hilarious_  when he’d broken into the brother’s houses and woken them up in the middle of the night.

Even better, Ylvis had been so chill about it. Even when Vegard had found a naked man suddenly in bed with him. 

That was partly why he’d chosen Vegard. That, and the fact that he’d been moody and distant all week, snapping at everyone. Even Bård. Surprisingly, the younger Ylvis had taken it in stride, making excuses for his older brother instead of snapping back, which, Peter thought, would totally be more in character for him. He was the hot-headed, devilish one, everyone knew that. Why he spoke so gently to Vegard after his outbursts, taking him aside and talking to him in a low voice with such concern in his eyes, Peter can’t understand it at all.

Well, he does understand one thing: Vegard is having a bad week. Clearly, he needs a good prank to cheer him up. Peter readies his night vision goggles and the little GoPro camera in his hand. 

The lock clicks open and the door opens with a quiet squeak. Odd, that - Vegard is usually so anal about things being tidy and in good working order. Clearly, he’s one of those people that are only like that for show - the inside of the house is lovely but there are empty take-out containers on the counter, dishes overflowing in the sink, and a huge basket of laundry in the hallway leading to the bedroom.

The door is closed. Practically vibrating with excitement, Peter lowers the goggles over his eyes. He can taste victory. He checks that the camera is recording, then pushes open the door.

Too late, he realizes that he’s made a horrible mistake. Vegard is asleep all right, but there’s someone sitting on the edge of the bed. 

_Oh hell no, it can’t be — in the same bed? What have I walked into?_

Before he can even blink, Bård is in front of him. He doesn’t think he’s even seen the man so angry. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen  _anyone_  so angry. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" he growls, nothing like his usually light tenor. 

Peter is too scared to reply. He notes, at least, with some relief, that Bård is fully dressed. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is pathetic squeaking sounds. 

"I asked you a question? And for fuck’s sake, keep your fucking voice down!" Before Peter can answer, Bård spots the GoPro still clenched in his fist. "Give me the camera." 

"But -"

“ _Give me the fucking camera!”_  

He does. Bård grasps it, and for a minute Peter is certain he’s going to smash it, and he opens his mouth to remind him that a) it belongs to the production company and is signed out in his name and b) it cost almost 3000kr. Luckily, Bård seemed to remember that.

"Get out of here," he snarls, his voice never going above a whisper. "Don’t ever pull a stunt like this again."

Never one to know when to keep his mouth shut, Peter whimpers, “But…but David…and Calle…!”

"We hated it when David did it. And don’t you  _dare_  compare yourself to Calle! Now get out of here, and if you fucking mention it to anyone, you will be fired. Instantly. Am I clear?”

"My camera…"

“ _AM I CLEAR?”_

Fuck, how could anyone be so loud when they were whispering? Peter nods. 

"Get out. I’ll give you your camera back at the office, when I can be sure all the footage of this is wiped."

Peter knows when he’s in the losing position. He nods.

"Get. Out."

He does.

Bård shuts the bedroom door as their new sidekick scampers away. He waits to hear the front door shut, then goes back to sit on the side of the mattress with a heavy sigh.

At least Vegard hadn’t woken up. Not surprising, considering that he hadn’t slept in almost a week. This attack had been particularly bad, and it had taken every trick Bård knew to help him fall asleep, which he finally had only two hours ago

(It had finally been the Last Resort that worked, which neither of them are entirely comfortable with anymore, but if cuddling together is what works, than Bård will gladly cuddle for as long as it takes).

The spike of red-hot anger is slowly ebbing away, and he can’t hold back a yawn. He’d been dozing himself when the little shit had decided to pull his prank, and seeing as it’s almost 5am, he’d really like to go back to that. He gets up and puts the little camera on the dresser - he’ll deal with it in the morning, when he’s not so tempted to simply smash it against the wall. 

He sets the alarm on his phone - vibrate only - for a few hours. Vegard will need food when he wakes (honestly, he’s worse than  _Bård_  when he gets like this, and that’s saying something), food and tea and to just…not be left alone. The house needs to be cleaned, too, and there’s a mountain of laundry piling up, and several days worth of emails to be responded to and phone calls to be returned and…

Moving carefully so as not to shake the mattress, Bård climbs onto the other side of the bed and lays down on top of the covers, placing the phone on the pillow beside him. 

 _Come back soon, Calle,_  he thinks.  _We need you._


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or: Bård does chores and is a good brother when no one's looking
> 
> Takes place directly after the last one. I'm not really sure about this one; it started out kind of boring and then went in a direction I wasn't expecting. Meh. 
> 
> Fun fact: Bård in this fic shares my opinion on cereal.

Bård wakes with a start when his face starts vibrating. 

No - not his face. His phone, which had been on the pillow beside his face, and had slid down against his cheek during the night. He frowns, silences it, looks at the time, and then closes his eyes again, wondering why the hell he's awake at 7am on a Saturday. 

Then he realizes - this isn't his bed. And he's not alone. 

Memories from the night before (well, really only a few hours before) flood in. Vegard. The Last Resort. Peter trying to pull a prank.

(For a minute he panics and wonders how much Peter saw and if he'd taken it completely the wrong way and was now in the process of telling everyone what he'd seen, until he remembers that he'd taken the camera, and allows himself a moment of self-congratulation that he'd thought to do that.)

Yawning, he settles back down against Vegard, who is still dead to the world, thank whatever deities there are. He's sleep-warm and comfortable and it's 7am on a Saturday...he begins to drowse off again.

But his mind refuses to settle, and he begins turning over in his mind all the things that need to be done, that have slipped by the wayside this past week

(and maybe even longer, and he thinks he might hate himself just a little for not noticing sooner).

There's a lot to be done, and he doesn't know how much longer Vegard will sleep - a lot longer, hopefully, but sometimes not, and Bård really doesn't want him to have to wake and face the house the way it is. There was a reason he'd set the alarm so early; it's going to take awhile, so he'd better get up now.

(Also, he really has to pee.) 

He yawns and gets up carefully, shivering a little at the early morning chill. He looks around, and feels a flash of sympathy. The house is a fucking mess, and he can understand how Vegard, ordinarily a neat-freak, must feel.

A shower, first. Surely Vegard won't mind Bård borrowing a handful of his shampoo, and he's going to do a load of laundry later anyway, so the towel will be cleaned.  (There are a disturbing number of clean towels in the linen closet, and Bård won't think about that. He won't.)

By the time he gets out the mail has arrived, and he spends a minute sorting through, figuring out what has to be dealt with immediately (thankfully nothing), and what can wait a little while longer. 

The containers on the counter he sweeps into a bin bag, as well as a tupperware container that seems to be growing some kind of mould. (He's pretty sure it isn't some kind of experiment that's going to show up on the show, and even if it was, then that's all the better reason to get rid of it).

The dishes are just about piling out of the sink, but those will have to wait till later, because of course Vegard doesn't have a dishwasher - it's more 'authentic' to wash them by hand, he claims, which is fine when you live alone and wash your small amount of dishes immediately after each meal, but when they're backed up, there's no way to do it quietly, and Bård is wary of making too much noise. He stacks them a little more neatly and hopes that makes it a little better. 

He runs a sponge over the counters, getting up the worst of the stains, then is satisfied that the kitchen is done. Surprisingly, the rest of the rooms aren't that bad except for the living room, which has a dismaying number of crumbs on the floor in front of the TV and on the couch.

(Usually Vegard forbids eating in the living room except on special occaisions, so he won't think of his brother sitting in here alone, night after night. He can't.)

But vacuuming will have to wait till later, so he settles for sweeping awkwardly with the broom. It's not perfect, but it looks a little better. 

Laundry is the last step, and thankfully the laundry room is far enough away that he's not worried about the noise. He sets the machine to running, then settles down with the task he'd been deliberately putting off as long as possible.

Vegard's laptop is lying on the coffeetable. With trepidation, Bård opens it and hits the 'check new mail' button, and waits. 

Thirty-eight messages. All from various reps from the network, media, props, assistants, wardrobe - fuck. And that's not even counting all the ones that have been read but ignored. This is going to take awhile.

He needs sustenance. 

The cupboards are just about bare, of course, as is the fridge, and Bård adds 'grocery shopping' to the list of things to be done later in the day. He eventually finds a half-empty box of cereal - Raisin Bran, so typically Vegard! - and pours it into a bowl and finds a clean spoon. If he were here Vegard would make fun of him for his refusal to put milk on his cereal, but just the thought is enough to make him want to gag - soggy cereal is not something he will ever eat.

(He won't acknowledge the tiny feeling of trepidation in the pit of his stomach when he looks at the bowl; now is not the time, and besides, that's over with, that's done. Really.) 

He takes his prize back over to the couch and again opens the computer. Five new messages have appeared, bringing the total up to 43. 

Bård isn't great at answering emails at the best of times, but somehow he gets through the vast majority of them, leaving aside the ones that only Vegard can answer, for various reasons, and then looks at his watch. 11:30. Not bad. 

Several of the emails were high-priority, so he decides the best thing is to standby and wait to be messaged back. He sits back on the couch, feeling suddenly, unutterably weary. The laundry machine is just about finished, and everything else is done, surely it won't hurt if he closes his eyes for 15 minutes...

He opens them again to see Vegard stumble out of the bedroom. A quick look at his watch tells him two hours have passed. So much for 15 minutes. At least a few new emails have come in that look to be the replies he was waiting for.

Vegard stops in the entrance to the kitchen and looks around, then blinks, as if he can’t quite figure it out. He frowns, then looks over at Bård, who shrugs. For a moment his breath hitches, and Bård is afraid he’s going to do something dumb like cry or try to thank him, and he looks away, embarrassed.

“Um, so, why exactly is there a camera on my dresser that wasn’t there last night?” Vegard asks, and Bård breathes a sigh of relief.

“Our dear new sidekick decided he was going to play a prank last night.”

“Oh no...not the ‘break in and climb into bed naked’ prank?”

“The very same,” Bård nods. “I put the fear of God into him. Well, probably went a little hard on him, actually. I don’t think he pissed himself...”

Vegard giggles, nose crinkling. Then he bites his lip. “Thanks,” he says softly, and he’s not just talking about the failed prank.

“Don’t mention it,” Bård mumbles, cheeks going red. “How are you...how are you...doing?”

He pauses, considering it. “Better,” he says at last. “I’m doing...better.”

Bård nods. “Good.” He clears his throat awkwardly. Neither of them are good at talking about sensitive things, so it’s a damn good thing they don’t need words to communicate.

He concentrates on the laptop as he hears Vegard in the kitchen, looking through the bare cupboards, and he can’t bear to see his brother’s face at the discovery. “Cereal’s on the counter,” he calls at last.

“Thanks...”

A few minutes later, Vegard sits down beside him on the couch. Bård steadily tries to ignore the sight of the soggy cereal floating in the milk.

“Well,” Vegard asks, nodding at the computer, “what’s going on there.”

“Specifically, or just a general overview?”

“General overview.”

Bård nods. Specifics can wait till later. “Everything’s basically on track for Monday, just a few things to be ironed out as usual, but nothing catastrophic.”

“Good, good.” Vegard puts the now-empty bowl on the table and sits back. Then he frowns. “You used my shampoo.”

Bård looks down to hide the smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe. So what if I did?”

“What if it’s special Turkish shampoo? You’re going to get curly hair.”

He snickers. “Then I’ll be twice as pretty as you. Besides, I earned it after washing your dirty undies.”

Vegard nods, going quiet. Then, “you didn’t have to do this.”

Fuck. They’re back to that. Bård shrugs. “You would have done it for me,” he says at last. “You’ve done more than that for me. A lot more.”

Neither can deny that’s true, but that isn’t the only reason why Bård did it, and they both know it.

“I wish I’d seen sooner,” he says at last, but Vegard shakes his head.

“I didn’t want you to.”

“I know, but --” _It doesn’t have to be that way._

Vegard shakes his head again, and looks away. “I’m fine.” But there’s a distance to him now, an ever-widening gulch and Bård is terrified that if he doesn’t pull him back, he’ll lose him again. But he never knows what to say in situations like this - he’s not like Vegard, he doesn’t know how to find the right words that make everything better. So he just inches closer until their sides are touching from shoulders to knees, and sits, and after a few minutes, feels Vegard relax enough to rest his head on his shoulder, and he breathes a silent sigh of relief. Things aren’t okay, but the crisis is over.

“I’m going to go out for a bit soon,” he says at last. “You need food, and I need to grab a few things from my place.”

“But you’ll come back?” There’s such a raw, aching vulnerability in Vegard’s voice, and he looks away, ashamed, and Bård can sense him slipping away again. Daring, he reaches out and puts his hand on his arm.

“I’m coming back. I’m staying. You stay here too.”


	4. Dagen's Spørsmhurrrrrrrgh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a conversation on Tumblr where it was noted that Vegard looks pretty queasy at the end of the iMac segment of Dagen's Spørsmal.
> 
> Warning: Vomit. It gets a little gross.

In retrospect, they should have seen it coming. After all, even though Bård might win the prize now, as kids it was definitely Vegard who did it more often.

Hurled. Chucked. Tossed his cookies. 

And he was never more vulnerable than when riding in the car.

(It was ironic, of course, that he got sicker on the ground than he did in the air, but no, flying never did it only  _cars,_  which made it doubly worse when they landed a show who’s central principle was them driving all over Norway; most people assumed Vegard drove most of the time because Bård was a bad driver, and not because it was the only surefire way to spare the interior of the rental car from…’redecoration’. Not that there weren’t a few close calls.)

So what on  _earth_  had made them think that putting him in the back of a moving truck driving around in circles was a good idea?

(It was probably Bård’s fault.)

Secondly, who the  _fuck_ thought it was a good idea to film all the segments on the same day?

(See above). 

Thirdly, who decided that the walls should be dark purple and have twisty, dizzy designs on them?

(Okay, that one was Gjertrude from set design.)

Surprisingly, Vegard seemed okay at first. Well, as okay as one can be while trying to change a lightbulb in a swaying chandelier. At least he had enough sense not to try to step  _on_  the ladder. 

They took a quick break while the crew set up the truck for the next segment. Table decoration was up next. Bård was looking forward to it, mainly because Vegard hadn’t told him what he was planning, and making fun of Vegard’s talent for all things interior design was one of Bård’s greatest joys in life.

Table decorating in a moving van, however, proved to be a lot more difficult than a chandelier. The plates and mats slid everywhere, and the slippery tablecloth only added to the bruise count. Who’s idea had it been to use a pointy wooden table anyway?

(Vegard’s, actually).

By the time they finished the segment, Bård had bruises in places he didn’t even know could  _get_  bruised. 

And Vegard wasn’t looking too good.

Bård worried his lip nervously as he watched Vegard drop heavily onto the battered yellow couch. He was pale and breathing shallowly, two very good signs that he was about to spew. Surely he wouldn’t, though?  In front of everyone? And certainly not on the set, Gjertrude would have his head!

"Uhh…okay?" he asked, and immediately wanted to kick himself. What a stupid question!

But Vegard nodded. “Yeah. Just…just give me a minute.”

"Do you want to stop for the day?"

"Nope. I’m fine." 

"You know, Calle said he wanted to do some of these, we could get him —"

"I  _said,_  I’m  _fine._ ”

"O-okay…" Bård knew better than to argue when Vegard used  _that_  voice. He watched as the assistants brought in the props for the next skit - an old iMac and a few assorted tools.

"Five minutes!" shouted the director.

"Are you —"

“ _Fine.”_

"Okay…" Bård said, backing away slowly. He took his place by the podium and picked up the question card. 

Vegard waited until the last minute, then stood up by the table, swaying dizzily. Niko nodded to the cameramen, then gave the direction to start.

Almost immediately the room began to bounce and shake as Bård read the question. He didn’t dare look over at Vegard, wondering if he was even going to be able to do it or if very shortly there would be a new “painting” on the wall.

But to his surprise, Vegard took up the challenge, and to his own credit, even managed to sound like he was having a good time. Which he  _was,_  Bård supposed - the segments were fun to film, even if the brothers came out of them black and blue and aching. 

In fact, they were having so much fun that Bård almost didn’t notice the tell-tale change. The way Vegard seemed to be gasping for breath with every word. The way he clung to the table. The slow, deliberate in-through-the-nose-out-through-the-mouth breathing. The way he, as soon as the room stopped moving, fell to the ground, a hand clapped over his mouth. 

"Shit, are you — " Bård asked as soon as he could stand up.

Vegard didn’t answer, just shook his head, never wavering from the position.

"Fight it, bro," Bård said. "You can do this. Keep it down."

For a second, he thought he might. Then Vegard let out a strangled moan, bolted to his feet, and ran out the door.

Bård sighed, then followed him. He was just in time to see his older brother make it to the edge of the lot, then double over and vomit into the flower beds. 

The crew was standing around with looks of shock, awkwardness and disgust. Bård ignored them all and went over to where Vegard was still hunched over. He’d stopped heaving for the moment, but the look on his face said that he wasn’t done. He rested his hand on Vegard’s back, feeling the trembling muscles, and sighed. The universe, in it’s endless cruelty, had seen fit to gift Vegard Ylvisåker with not only severe motion sickness (as well as a brother with the world’s most sensitive stomach), but a nice case of emetophobia as well.

"Hey," Bård said softly, gently rubbing Vegard’s back in slow, calming circles. "It’s okay. It’s over now. Just relax, just breathe." He looked around at the crew. "Can we get some water over here, please?"

Immediately everyone jumped into action. Bård kept rubbing Vegard’s back as he heaved again. He knew all too well what it was like to throw up, and even though he didn’t do it for the same reason as Vegard, the actual act was always terrible. 

"Here," Gjertrude said, coming up behind them. "A nice cool bottle of water."

Vegard stood up slowly, leaning on Bård, and accepted the bottle with a nod of thanks. He gingerly took a sip of it, and when that stayed down, a longer drink.

"Niko’s decided to stop for the day," Gjertrude continued. "So why don’t you come sit down for a few minutes, and then you can go inside and get changed."

Vegard looked at Bård, then nodded. Together, they walked him over to the truck and he sat down on the footboard, sipping again from the bottle and rinsing his mouth. 

Bård signed off on the changes to the schedule, then went and sat down next to Vegard as the crew packed up.

"I threw up."

"Yeah, you did. But it’s over now, you’re not going to throw up again."

"I hate throwing up."

"I know, it’s yucky. But it’s over."

"That was embarrassing," Vegard said.

Bård shrugged. “Could be worse. At least the cameras were turned off and you managed to wait til you were  _outside_.”

"In front of the crew."

"Oh, come on. Like it’s never happened to anyone else. Hell, most of them have kids, they’re probably used to it…not that you’re a kid…or that it only happens to kids…" Bård tried to backpeddle, realizing he’d just made the situation worse. "Seriously. It’s not a big deal."

"I  _threw up._ You don’t  _understand.”_ _  
_

Bård sighed, and pulled out a pack of gum from his pocket. “Here.”

"What is it?"

"Spearmint. Take two. It’ll get the taste out of your mouth." He hesitated. "It’s what I always use."

Vegard fixed him with a sidelong glance, then nodded and popped the pieces into his mouth. For awhile he just sat, chewing slowly, until Bård spoke up again.

"We’re going to finish up on Saturday."

"Okay."

"Calle is doing the last few segments. The cake and the Christmas tree. If you want, he can do the tiling one too. I’m sure he won’t mind."

But Vegard was shaking his head. “No. No, Bård. I have to fight this. I have to redeem myself.”

Bård rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to redeem yourself.”

But Vegard was resolute. “I’m doing the last one.” 

Bård resisted the urge to helpfully point out that at least if he got sick, the room was already going to be destroyed. No, he kept silent for once, and admired Vegard’s stubborn insistence. Not to mention his courage. And if that gave Bård just a little bit of hope for himself, well, no one had to know that.

(And if he stored away a few extra plastic bags in the glovebox for the nights he drove Vegard home, no one had to know that either.)


	5. Happy Birthday Bård

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Bård b-day. At one in the morning. In one continuous take. 
> 
> If the gift ideas seem kind of random, I took them from a post on Tumblr.

Bård walked into the Concorde TV offices at half-past ten to find it completely deserted. He frowned. Where was everyone? OK so it was late, but he was late everyday, and besides, today is his birthday. He’s allowed to be late.

He was at least expecting Vegard to pop out of his office and chide him for being late. But no, even his older brother wasn’t there. 

He slowly opened the door to his own office. It was dark and cold, with no sign of life. With a sigh, he entered and closed the door. Nothing. 

Of course, it’s not like he expected anyone to remember. He was a grown-ass man, and birthdays weren’t a big deal anymore. Right? Of course not. So what if they’d all gone to lunch without him. They’d probably gone to a restaurant he hates anyway. Right.

(And if Vegard’s not there, then he couldn’t give Bård the traditional birthday beating. So there was that.)

Still though…he wasn’t expecting there to be no one there…

He hung up his coat on the back of the door and trudged across the office to his chair, trying not to look at his reflection in the full length glass windows. God, was that really him? Bird legs, tummy…receding hairline…no, this whole ‘aging’ thing did not suit him at all.

That’s when he noticed it. The box on his desk. 

Okay, so it wasn’t wrapped or anything. But his name was on it, in Vegard’s elegant-yet-messy handwriting. 

So why hadn’t his brother waited around to give it to him before running off?

Suddenly Bård was nervous. He approached it carefully, but it didn’t appear to be either ticking or leaking, so he supposed it was probably safe to open.

Which he did, eagerly. The thing about Vegard was that he was a perfectionist and he knew Bård better than Bård knew himself, which invariably meant that Vegard got him the best presents. 

But as he looked in the box, his face fell.

"What the hell," he muttered to himself, as he pulled out the first object, a small gold mesh. Puzzled, he stared at it until the use became apparent. 

Gold teeth.

Gold. Fucking. Teeth.

Damn him! Vegard knew how sensitive he was about his teeth!

No. Maybe there was a mistake. The box wasn’t empty, maybe there was another explanation.

Bård reached in again, and pulled out the next item.

And nearly threw it against the wall. A wig? Really? Really? If there was anything he was more sensitive about than his teeth, it was his hairline, and Vegard had…that bastard had…!

But the box still wasn’t empty. With trepidation he reached in and pulled out the last item. A canary-yellow velvet suit. He frowned. Why did it look so familiar?

Oh, right. Norges Herligste. Prince Charming. Well that was just fucking great. Vegard had got him a costume that was clearly too small, clearly not-so-subtly pointing out the fact that Bård wasn’t as lithe as he used to be, AND it had to be from the episode where he’d completely made an idiot of himself.

Choking back the lump in his throat (because Bård was a badass, and baddasses don’t cry), he sank down in his office chair and put his head in his hands. 

And then someone threw a bag over his head, and there was a cold metal tip pressed against his temple.

"Get up," said a rough voice, and suddenly there was a hand under his arm, pulling him up.

Bård just sighed. Great. First he’d been forgotten. Then his beloved big brother had gotten him the worst presents ever. Now he was being kidnapped. This birthday was just sucking more and more by the minute. 

"Just take me," he sighed. "I don’t care anymore."

"Oh shut up," his attacker grumbled. He led him through the office and down the elevator. Under the bag, Bård pouted. Was there absolutely no one around at all? Shouldn’t someone notice when the boss is being kidnapped? Or were they all in on it? Did they all hate him so much that they’d conspired to have him killed on his birthday?

"Get in," the voice growled again, and pushed him into what seemed to be a car. There was something oddly familiar about it, but Bård couldn’t concentrate on that. 

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"You’ll see."

"No I won’t, I’ve got a bag on my head."

"Just shut up."

Bård pouted again. “Rude.” 

It didn’t seem to take long before the car stopped and the engine shut off. He waited while his attacker went around the front and opened the door, and pulled him out. 

"Move," the voice growled. "And be careful of the steps, they’re a little slippery." 

Bård obediently walked up the steps, although he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of place had nice steps, a heavy door, and smelled delicious. 

"You might as well just kill me now," he whined. "I’ve had the worst birthday ever. Everyone forgot. Even Vegard forgot. And —"

Before he could continue, the bag was lifted off his head. 

"SURPRISE!" came the shout from around the room, as all their friends jumped out from behind random items of furniture in Vegard’s living room. Set up in the middle of the room was a large table with at least three different types of pizza, and a cake that was made out of banana bread. 

Bård was speechless. He definitely didn’t have a lump in his throat. And those certainly weren’t tears in his eyes. (Badass, remember?)

"You really thought we forgot?" Vegard asked. "You should know better by now. Now come have some pizza. But first things first: traditional birthday beating!" And he punched him in the arm.

It was a very nice party, and it went on late into the night. But eventually, people began to trickle out. (Bjarte was wasted, but they pointed him in the direction of his house and hoped for the best.)

Magnus and Calle were the last to leave, after giving Bård a hug, and a novelty pen and a pair of fox-print pyjama pants they’d found in a store while on honeymoon in Denmark. 

Finally, it was just Vegard and Bård left alone in Vegard’s living room.

"You really thought I would forget about your birthday?" Vegard asked as he cleaned up the remnants from the party. Bård was sitting on his ass on the couch with a beer, as was his right as birthday-boy. 

"Well," he admitted uncomfortably. "When there was no one at the office, I thought…"

"Because we were all here, getting ready," Vegard explained. "I thought up the kidnapping thing myself, wasn’t it clever?"

Bård had to admit that yes, it was pretty clever. But there was still something preying on his mind.

"Vegard, do I look old?" he asked.

Vegard stopped his cleaning to peer at his brother. “Old? No! If you look old, then what do I look like?”

He had a point. “But what about…my teeth? And my hair? And do you think I’m getting fat?”

"Bård what is this about?" Vegard asked. He put down the plastic bin bag and sat next to him on the couch.

"The box," Bård burst out. "The box on my desk this morning. It had the gold teeth and the wig and the costume that I’ll never fit into…are you just trying to tell me something? ‘cuz it wasn’t very funny."

Vegard frowned. “Bård, those weren’t birthday presents. Those were props for the sketch we’re doing next week.”

"…ah."

"Really? You thought I would get you that crap?"

"Uh, well…no, I guess not…"

"Good. God, it’s a good thing the panties weren’t in that box or I don’t know what you would have thought.”

Bård looked up in horror. Vegard started laughing. “They’re for Calle.”

"Oh," Bård sighed, as though that explained everything. Actually, it did. 

"There’s a couple other things coming," Vegard said. "A straw hat - ugh, you have no idea how long it took me to track down one of those."

"Okay," Bård said. His spirits were lightening. 

Vegard slapped his forehead. “I’m so stupid! I forgot to give you your presents from me!”

Bård wanted to protest, to say that the party had been more than present enough, but he was curious. Vegard disappeared down the hall to his bedroom, and then returned with two boxes. 

"This one first," he said, handing over the smaller of the two packages. Bård opened it, and gasped.

It was a clock. A small desk-clock engraved with the image of a Concorde jet, and his initials.

"Now you have no excuse for being late!" Vegard said. Bård agreed. He’d never be late for anything again (well, not for the next few days at least.)

"Now this one," Vegard said, eagerly handing over the second. Bård opened it curiously. It was strangely light. He opened the cover and frowned in confusion.

It was a photograph of a guitar. He looked up at Vegard, feeling a bit betrayed.

"It’s a picture."

"Let me explain," Vegard rushed. "It’s a picture…of the guitar…that I ordered from America but GOT STUCK IN FUCKING CUSTOMS. FUCK!" He took a deep breath. "It should be here on Tuesday."

Bård felt the box drop from his suddenly limp hands. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t. 

"You…got that for me?" was all he could manage.

"A proper rock star needs a proper rock guitar," Vegard nodded. "At least it’ll be here in time for Bergen."

"I…I…." he swallowed. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome."

The air was tense. Awkwardly, Vegard put out his hand, and Bård took it, and a warm handshake ensued. Then laughed, and launched himself into his brother’s arms.

"Thank you," he whispered. "This was the best birthday ever."

"You’re welcome," Vegard answered, hugging him back. "Happy Birthday Bård"


	6. Frozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TWO FOR THE PRICE OF ONE
> 
> Another ficlet based on a dream. I don't know why all my dreams seem to involve them being cold. Possibly because it's freezing as hell here.

It was supposed to be a new segment of IKMY. Tired of always having to compete against each other, Calle and Magnus had come up with something new: they were the ones challenging the brothers to do something. Bård and Vegard had been skeptical, and even moreso when they found out what the challenge was.

The restaurant was very fancy. It was also up North and in the middle of winter, was the last place anyone wanted to be. But a challenge was a challenge, and the Ylvis boys were never one to back down from a challenge.

"The aim is simple," Niko, their director said, pointing to the restaurant’s expansive front lawn. Well, front lawn was a misnomer. Front pond was more like it. In summer, it probably would be very lovely, but at 8pm in December, it was horrifying. Especially when there was only a rough footbridge swaying precariously over it.

"There are 12 people here," he continued, indicating the 12 people who’d signed up to be on the segment (who now looked like they were regretting their choice). "Your job is to each take 6, and help them get across the bridge. If anyone falls in, you lose."

"What about if we fall in?" Bård asked. 

Niko shrugged. “What about it?”

Okay, that was ominous. 

"Won’t we ruin our clothes?" Part of the challenge was that they had to complete the task wearing full tuxedoes.

Niko shrugged again. “They were cheap. Ready?” he asked.

"No," Bård said in a small voice, but he was ignored. Vegard nodded. "Ready."

"And….go!"

The bridge began to rock back and forth as people at either end shook it. Bård grabbed the hand of the first person and led her toward the bridge. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Vegard right behind him with his own person.

To his credit, they made it halfway across before it swung particularly heavily and they stumbled. Bård gave the girl a shove to help her keep her balance, but it was too late for him. He fell off the bridge into the icy water, and came up spluttering. On the shore, he could see Niko and the sound techs doubled over laughing, and he flipped them the finger as he climbed back up. He was shivering so hard he wasn’t sure how he was going to keep going, but somehow he did until they got to the far shore.

Vegard was having about the same luck. He had picked an older man who was clearly not comfortable with the whole concept and kept grabbing his shoulders. Vegard was trying and trying to get him to let go, but to no avail. Until the bridge swung again and the man let go of him just in time for Vegard to fall over the edge of the bridge. He came up with a scream and also flipped off the people on the shore 

(He had to use two hands this time: one for the crew, and one for Bård who had nearly fallen over from laughing).

They ere both dumped as they tried to cross the bridge back to the other people waiting on shore, and again as they crossed with the second round. And the third. And the fourth. AND the fifth. At least this will be good TV, thought Bård. Or at least, some kind of TV. When in doubt, pain was a winner.

He almost cried real tears of relief when they finally, FINALLY got across or the last time. They’d done it. They’d made it across with the last person, and none of them had fallen in the water. It was over! They’d won!

"That’ll show Calle and Magnus," Bård tried to laugh, but he was shivering too hard to get the words out. Even still, Vegard seemed to understand what he was saying because he laughed too. 

"Okay, guys, get those wet clothes off, the van is coming around and we’ll head back to Oslo. It’s gonna be a long drive so hurry now."

They didn’t need much encouragement. Even though the air was cold, it still felt great to get the freezing layers off. 

"We have to think up something really bad for Calle," Bård said.

"Oh yeah, he’s going to pay," Vegard agreed. 

By the time the van had driven over from the other side of the pond, they’d stripped down to their underwear. Niko threw them some towels, and they quickly dried off before pulling on the extra clothes they’d brought with them and climbing into the van. Their lucky participants were driving home on their own, after enjoying a free meal at the restaurant for their trouble.

Erik, their driver, turned the heater on full blast and pulled away. It was going to be a long drive back to Oslo; they weren’t expecting to get until the early hours of the morning. 

Vegard, sitting in the backseat, leaned against the window as they drove. The heater was blowing directly into his face and it was getting annoying, and making him feel like his head was stuffed full of cotton, and his thick winter jacket was too warm. He tried to close his eyes and just listen to the soothing hum of the engine. They would be back in Oslo before they knew it. But something kept him awake, something besides the sharp pounding that had started in his temples. He looked over to Bård, sitting beside him.

His little brother was slumped against the other window. His eyes weren’t closed but he was being uncharacteristically quiet - he wasn’t even looking at his phone. As if sensing Vegard’s look, he raised his head. He was pale, but there was a red flush on his cheeks.

"I don’t feel good," he whispered. 

"I don’t either," Vegard admitted. 

Without asking, because he knew he didn’t even need to, Bård shifted so he was resting against his brother’s shoulder. Vegard could feel the heat rising off him, and could only hope they would be home soon. He himself was starting to shiver again, despite the blasting heater, and all he wanted was to curl up in his own bed. 

He supposed he must have dozed off, because the next thing he was aware of was a cool hand pressed against his forehead. The van had stopped. He struggled to open his eyes.

"He’s feverish too," Niko said in a soft voice to someone. Erik, maybe. "They both are. I think we should stop for the night."

His focus shifted to Bård, who appeared to be asleep. That seemed like a good idea, so he let his eyes fall shut again too.

The next thing he knew, there was a bright light shining in his eyes. He grunted and tried to turn away, but he heard the van door open and suddenly there was a draft of cold air. 

"Come on," said Niko. "Up you get, and get your brother up. We’re here."

"Oslo?" Vegard asked hopefully. 

"Nope. We’re stopping for the night at a hotel. Erik’s inside getting the rooms, so you two get out and come inside.

Vegard squinted, struggling to make sense of things. Hotel? Inside? Not Oslo? He shook his head, wincing as that aggravated his headache. Inside. Inside meant warmth. He shook Bård gently. 

Bård was sluggish and unwilling to get up, as usual, but Vegard knew all his tricks. After only a few minutes of coaxing, he had Bård on his feet and walking toward the hotel. 

Niko met them at the door with a steadying hand on Vegard’s elbow, which was appreciated because even the short walk from the car made him feel like he was about to fall over. 

"Room 107," Niko said. He didn’t remove his hand as they walked down the hall to the indicated room. He even swiped the keycard and opened the door for them.

"We’ll continue on in the morning," he said. "Until then, get some rest." Vegard nodded and Niko closed the door, muttering "stupid idea for a prank…” 

"Come on," Vegard said, depositing Bård on the bed. "Clothes off. Bedtime." He wasted no time in following his own advice. There was only one bed in the room, but that was no problem. He was too tired to care, and he knew Bård was as well.

He groaned as he slid under the covers. Already he could feel himself slipping away, but he forced himself to stay awake until he was sure Bård was also following orders. 

Finally, the blankets lifted and the bed dipped as Bård got in next to him.

"I’m going to kill Calle," he breathed, and Vegard laughed softly. "I feel like shit."

"You’ll be better in the morning."

"I know. Goodnight, Vegard." He closed his eyes, then frowned. He shifted closer, then put his arms around his brother and tucked his head under Vegard’s chin. At once, his breathing became slow and even and he began to snore softly.

Vegard smiled fondly and put his arms around him as well. Then he closed his eyes, and followed him into sleep.


	7. Antidote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Vegard H/C because I've really been digging it lately. Tried a new style in the beginning, not sure if it worked, but I tried.
> 
> Takes place after the Nordens Herligste episode "Dyreparkmannen"
> 
> Here's the thing: I suck at responding to comments. I try and try and somehow I just always fall behind and...all your comments are so wonderful and amazing, and I love them so much, and I know that everyone puts so much effort into their comments and I'm such a piece of shit I don't even respond and so I don't deserve them. So, if you like this, don't comment. Just leave kudos, or even just enjoy it, and maybe one day I'll get my shit together.

_Breathe in_

The van races over the country roads, seeming (to Bård) to hit every rock and crack in the road. He barely feels it but Vegard gasps in pain every time the van jolts. 

_Breathe out_

In the front seat, Niko is driving as fast as he dares on the winding roads, and Ulf is trying desperately to get any sort of reception on his phone so they can call ahead.

_Breathe in_

Vegard is pale and clammy and his eyes keep fluttering closed despite Bård pleading that he keep them open. His mouth is open, but his breath comes as a rattling gasp.

_Breath out._

On the other side, Knut has Vegard’s wrist in a death grip, holding it up, above the level of his heart. His palm is swollen and there are angry red lines spreading down his arm.

_Breathe in_

_(Wheeze)_

( _We have the antidote, the animal-park man had said)_

_(Can you make it bite, Bård had said)_

_Breathe out_

They had the antidote but how could they have known? Tarantulas aren’t something they’d ever encountered before, let alone handled.

How could they have known Vegard is deathly allergic?

_Breathe in_

_(Wheeze)_

_Can you make it bite?_

The reaction had been near instantaneous - Vegard had yelped in pain as the thing bit him, then dropped to his knees. Bård had started to mock him, as usual, before the words died on his lips

_(Don’t say die, don’t even say die_ )

as Vegard keeled over, clutching his wrist, gasping for air

_Breathe out_

And Bård knows this is real, this is serious, because Vegard never acts like this, never falls apart, is never weak

(No, that’s Bård)

_Breathe in_

_(Rattle)_

He remembers back in sixth grade, little Reidar who was allergic to everything and carried all his meds in a fannypack around his waist, who kissed Eva behind the sports shed, Eva who’s mother had given her a peanut butter sandwich for lunch, he remembers seeing Reidar stagger out, clawing at his throat

He remembers that Reidar hadn’t even made it to the hospital

He wonders if Vegard remembers him.

_Breathe out_

The roads are turning to pavement now; they’re getting near the city. He can feel Vegard pulse against his hand; rapid and thready, like a caged bird beating its wings against the bars. The sign for the hospital looms into view

_Breathe in_

_Breathe in_

_Please breathe in_

~~~

Bård loses track of the amount of time he spends waiting in the hallway, back against the wall, knees drawn up around his chest.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the sight of the IVs and oxygen masks that sent him running out of the room. Nor was it the enormous needle full of epinephrine that was jammed unceremoniously into his brother’s thigh.

No, it was the awful whine of the defibrillator paddles that still rings in his ears; the way Vegard’s body jumped with each shock.

His phone is in his hand. He knows he needs to call his parents. They need to know what’s going on, what’s happened.

But then he’ll have to tell them everything. That he wanted the tarantula to bit his brother

( _He didn’t want it, he truly didn’t, he just said it because he wasn’t thinking, because it would make for good TV; Vegard would scream like a girl and maybe drop it and it would go down his pants or something; everyone would have a laugh and move on, he never wanted this, not at all)_

He wonders if Knut and the others are still waiting in the waiting room, or if they’ve gone home. Maybe he should go try to fine them, but he can’t move from his position on the floor. They don’t want to see his face, anyway, he’s sure of it. They never want to see him again.

He wonders what will happen to the tape. If it will be destroyed, or even…

Surely they can’t use it against him, right? Surely they know that he wasn’t _trying_  to get his brother killed?

His breathing is too fast and kind of hitchy, and he thinks he might start crying. He fights it back, because he can just imagine what Vegard would say if he knew Bård was crying over him.

Vegard had no patience for crying.

Then the nurse is kneeling down in front of him and speaking gently, too gently ( _why won’t she yell, doesn’t she see that he doesn’t deserve her kindness?_ ) and she holds out her hand. Bård takes it, and she leads him into the room where Vegard is.

He almost doesn’t recognize his brother. It occurs to him that he’s never seen Vegard like this before - Vegard is the strong one, the one who is never sick and never hurt. He doesn’t even like to sleep. To see him like this, pale and still, is unnatural. His eyelashes are dark against his white skin, the contrast too sharp. Bård reaches out a hand, unable to stop himself, and faintly traces over his features.

At the ghostly touch, Vegard’s eyes snap open. He looks around wildly for a moment, then his eyes settle on Bård and he smiles drunkenly.

“Bård,” he whispers. His voice is hoarse. “They shaved my chest hair.”

Bård doesn’t know what to say to that, but the nurse smiles as she checks on the IV bag. “We had to, in order to use the paddles. Remember?”

“Oh yeah.” Vegard giggles. “Now I look like you, Bård. Make them give it back!”

“O..okay…”

Vegard shifts restlessly, plucking at the blankets and the oxygen tube in his nose. “I wanna go home.”

Bård looks at the nurse. “We’re keeping him here overnight,” she explains. “Just for IV fluids and observation, to be on the safe side.”

“Don’t wanna stay,” Vegard grumbles, but he’s falling asleep again. He frowns, then his eyes drift shut and he begins to snore faintly.

“How bad was it?” Bård asks, although he’s afraid to know, afraid to face what he’s done.

“It was bad, for awhile,” the nurse answers. “The doctor will be able to tell you more.”

“You had to shock him. His heart stopped.”

But she shakes her head. “No, that’s a myth. The shocks are used to reset the heart into a normal rhythm. You can’t shock a heart that isn’t beating. He didn’t die, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And he isn’t going to die?”

“Not any time soon.” 

As if in answer, Vegard lets out a loud snore. Bård smiles despite himself as the nurse pats his arm and leaves the room. He sinks down on the plastic chair next to the bed, and waits.

He doesn’t have to wait long. A half hour later, Vegard opens his eyes again, looking less bleary than before. 

“I didn’t dream it?” he asks, then lifts the blanket and gown and looks down at his chest. “Aw, damn.”

“It’ll grow back,” Bård answers. 

“Yeah but it’ll itch like a bastard.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “That’ll teach me to be allergic to things.”

“Yeah, what a loser,” Bård agrees. 

Silence stretches on between them. Bård wonders if Vegard has fallen back to sleep.

“I didn’t want it to bite you,” he says at last.

Vegard, who had indeed been dozing, opens his eyes. “What?”

Maybe he’s just being nice, but he looks genuinely confused, so Bård continues. “Didn’t you hear me? Right before it bit you, I asked the guy if he could make it bite. He had the antidote. Then it bit.”

Vegard blinks. Shakes his head. Blinks again. “I don’t remember that. But…are you seriously trying to imply that the spider bit me because you asked it to?  _Really,_  Bård?”

Put like that, it does sound ridiculous. “Ah…I, um…”

“Oh my God, you do think that!” Vegard starts to laugh, and Bård thinks it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. “You fucking dork!”

“Oh shut up,” Bård grumbles good-naturedly. “You would have thought that too.”

“The spider bit me because it’s a  _spider_ , that’s what they do!” Vegard laughs. “Whatever is the simplest explanation is the truth. Occam’s Razor, little brother.”

“Oh God, more nerd shit!” Bård groans, but he can’t stop smiling. “Go back to sleep, spiderman.” 

Vegard giggles drowsily, eyes closing. “If I’m Spiderman, then that makes you Mary Jane.”

Bård barely resists the urge to hit him with a pillow.


	8. Tobias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because the song Tobias has always mystified me. And because I'm mean.

 

 

Helga Thorsson was ten years old and in _love._ She was sure of it. She was in love with the handsomest, funniest, nicest boy in the fifth grade. 

 

_Tobias_

 

She sighed his name lovingly as she stared at him across the playground, shyly hiding behind her notebook whenever he looked her way, her notebook filled with a 13 000 word fanfiction about their life together. And what a fanfiction it was! 

She was perfect for him! Why couldn’t he see it? Did he even know she existed?

 

What on earth could she do to get his attention?

 

~

 

Helga was quiet all through dinner, despite her parents repeatedly asking her what was wrong. She didn’t know how to tell them. They were grown-ups, after all. What did they know about being in _love?_

 

Sensing that their daughter was in a low mood, her parents offered her a special treat: she could stay up late and watch television with them. At first, Helga resisted; wishing to go to bed and dream about Tobias. But finally, she decided to watch with them.

 

The first show was boring, and she began to think about her problem again. How to get Tobias to notice her? She just couldn’t think of anything. In addition to being the handsomest, funniest and nicest boy in fifth grade, he was also the most popular, and he could have any girl he wanted.

 

(There were even rumours he had…. _kissed_ …Hanna behind the school one afternoon!)

 

The next show was one she had never seen before, some kind of late night talk show featuring three hosts. They were pretty funny, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off them. Especially the dark haired one, who looked just like _him_. 

 

And then came the lightbulb moment.

 

“And if you have any questions,” the dark-haired man said, as he put away his guitar, “send them in to [_ylvis@tvnorge.no_](mailto:ylvis@tvnorge.no)”

 

Her parents were asleep on the couch. Helga quietly crept upstairs to the computer.

 

~~

 

The next week, Helga _begged_ her parents to allow her to stay up late and watch the Ylvis show again. She hadn’t mentioned to them her plan, but somehow they sensed that it was important to her, and allowed her to stay up.

 

She felt like she might explode as the show started. This was it, this was the thing that would finally get Tobias to notice her. 

 

Not only was the the handsomest, funniest, nicest and most popular boy in the fifth grade, he was also the most musical. He played _ten_ instruments, he’d told everyone. Including some that were _top secret_ made by the government and not available for regular people.

 

Oh, he was just the coolest guy ever!

 

It felt like forever, but finally the intro dances were done, and the hosts sat down at the desk. The Swedish guy took out a piece of paper, and Helga felt her heart speed up. This was it! They were answering questions! Very soon, she would have her very own song to sing to Tobias to make him fall in love with her.

 

The dark, curly-haired man pulled out a piece of paper as well. And then it was real, he was reading her words, sent from her computer, from her email: _tobias4ever02._

 

“Dear Ylvis, could you try making a song with the name Tobias?”

 

She thought she might scream with how excited she was. She didn’t even hear the rest of the question, until the blond host pulled out his guitar, and the dark haired man struck up the band. 

 

And began to sing. Helga grabbed her notebook, ready to write down the words to the magic song, the one that would decide her destiny. Mrs. Tobias. She could practically hear the wedding bells.

 

_T er for troverdig,_

_O for omelett_

_B for bil og_

_I for is og_

_A og S er lett_

 

…oh.

 


	9. Helium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is nothing new...just something I wrote on Tumblr a few weeks ago that I kind of liked. I suck. I'll try to have some actual new content up...at some point :P
> 
> Takes place during episode 4 (or whatever the one with the helium was)
> 
> Warning: very dark, very angsty.

He was tired. He was so so tired. 

He didn’t know why. Rehearsal had actually wrapped up early the night before, and he’d been home before midnight and in bed before one. Not that he’d managed to sleep, but still. That was nothing new. He’d been dealing with the bad nights for as long as he could remember. 

He was just… _tired._

Bård was looking at him and he realized he’d nearly missed his cue. 

"Which…which jokes?" he asked, quickly looking down at his cards.

"I’ve forgotten, they were all so bad."

_Of course they were. You’re shit. You’re shit and you know it. Why are you even here?_

"Tell us a joke, Vegard. Tell us a bad joke."

"Let me think, my jokes are all so good."

_Liar_

"What…what is Dracula’s favourite fruit?"

Bård, Calle and the audience groaned at the punchline. Vegard forced himself to shrug.

_You’re shit they know it you’re shit they know it_

Bård reached under the desk and pulled out the respirator. He handed it to Vegard, who took it and put it in his mouth.

The rush was dizzying as his lungs screamed for oxygen and only got helium instead. He yanked the mouthpiece out and repeated the joke, to gales of laughter.

And maybe it was the lack of oxygen, but suddenly it really was funnier. The audience really was laughing, instead of laughing politely. They really thought he was funny. Encouraged, he took another hit of it.

_What kind of comedian are you if you have to rely on cheap gimmicks to get a laugh?_

The realization cuts through his consciousness like a searing knife.

 _You are shit, you are_ shit _you are shit_

He pulled the respirator out of his mouth, squeezing it in his fingers like a bug he wanted to crush.

He was so tired.

The band started up the song. Bård was looking at him expectantly as they all put the mouthpieces in and took a long drag.

Again the dizzying rush. His head was spinning.

_They’re not laughing at you. You’re shit. You’re so shit. Why are you even still here. No one wants you here. You’re only here because they need someone to make fun of. You’re only here because Bård lets you be here, that’s all it is, he’s just tolerating you, but you’ve come to the end, this is it, pretty soon he won’t anymore, he won’t, because you are shit!_

His hands were shaking. He was so tired. 

It was time to take another hit. 

_Why are you even still here?_

He breathed in, good and deep.

_No one wants you around_

Black sparkles were creeping in to the edges of his vision.

He took another hit

_You don’t belong here_

From the corner of his eye he could see Bård looking at him in concern, but he ignored him. Breathed in again.

_You are shit!_

Sound was distorted and everything seemed to be going in slow motion. He was aware of falling, and then his shoulder hitting the floor, sending a wave of pain screaming out from his back.

_One more breath do it c’mon I dare you do it for them make their lives better_

With failing strength he ripped the respirator out of his mouth.

_You are shit_

The world went dark.

~~~

"Vegard! Vegard, wake up! Please!"

Bård’s voice cutting through the fuzzy space in his head. 

"Wake the fuck up! We’re on stage!"

A stinging pain to his cheek made him open his eyes. He was lying on the floor, heaving for breath, and Bård was kneeling over him, looking panicked.

"What the hell! What the hell were you doing? You just…you were only supposed to —  _what the hell was that?_ ”

"N-nothing," Vegard mumbled. "I thought it wasn’t working." He pushed Bård away and sat up, clutching his curls as dizziness washed over him.

The audience was absolutely silent, but burst into applause and cheers as he stood up. 

_Don’t ruin the show anymore than you already have, idiot_

Bård was looking at him skeptically, but he shook his head. He went to the front of the stage and made a wobbly bow, pretending that this had been planned all along.

_You are shit_

He was so tired. 


End file.
